


Hollowed Sun

by Certified_Ceraunophile



Category: The Originals (TV), The Vampire Diaries & Related Fandoms, The Vampire Diaries (TV)
Genre: AH/AU, Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Serial Killers, Angst and Tragedy, BUT READ IT., Beware, Bloody and Broken Klaus Mikaelson, Character Death, Dark!Klaus, F/M, Heavy Angst, IT’s So DARK you’re gonna have to switch on the light to read it, Tragedy, also, and spiral to the deepest darkest death holes of tartarus with me, be warned, get yourself a box of tissues, like literally none, like very very Dark Klaus, major MAJOR ANGST ALERT, no happy ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-20
Updated: 2020-11-20
Packaged: 2021-03-10 05:01:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,702
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27647894
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Certified_Ceraunophile/pseuds/Certified_Ceraunophile
Summary: He thought he could keep her,He laughs a sound Caroline would not have found beautiful,But this, this blonde, she did come the closest after all, but alas, they all leave.They leave, Every fucking time.Not once, not bloody once, have they stayed,Not bloody once have they with honesty clear as day, touched his cheek, braced his breast, held his wrist and told him, we’ll remain, we’ll stay.Not once have they told him,Here, this hand, this hand right here, it will never unclasp yours,The only time his hand does not quiver is when he draws,Or Klaus gets lonely and has a tea party, but somehow the body count is nine instead of three.NOMINATED FOR BEST ANGST ONE-SHOT 2020.
Relationships: Caroline Forbes/Klaus Mikaelson
Comments: 28
Kudos: 44





	Hollowed Sun

**Author's Note:**

> DISCLAIMER:  
> MAJOR ANGST WARNING  
> ANGST WITH TRAGEDY WARNING
> 
> Don't tell me I didn't tell you so.  
> I mean it, there is no happy ending at all.
> 
> Now go snivel and sob and wail.

* * *

**_“Now folks, we’ll be switching to on-site live news coverage from the crime scene itself, brought to you by Logan Fell—now Hello Logan do you copy?”_ **

**_“Hello yes, Yes Andi I copy. I’ll take it from here—_ **

**_Good evening viewers of Mystic Falls, first and foremost before I begin today’s coverage, I’d like to take a moment to express my heartfelt condolences to the victim’s family and friends…..”_ **

_Allowing this jackass news coverage of such a sensitive story is just all kinds of wrong, I mean who the hell says ‘heartfelt condolences’ with a smile that could be on a Colgate Ad stuck to their face. God, but more than that, this is seriously heartbreaking, Like how many more until the Feds up and do something, this situation is getting so out of hand, I mean—_

“See now that’s not something Caroline would say, she’s not so inconsiderate to start off with that buffoon twattling on the telly and end with the victim, she’d address the victim first, and she’d do it while taking out the pasta dough for the sympathy casserole she’s already planning in her head. Now I’d expect the same from you, but your hands are indisposed of, so is your feet and well, so is the rest of your body. _All bound up and nowhere to go,_ so I’d suggest we take it from the top, and this time use the word _asshat_ , she prefers it.”

The blonde, the ninth one so far, held her silence, 

A welcome relief from her nattering, respite he was rarely indulged,

This one, he admits, had lasted the longest, didn't cower and leak her bowels like the rest, well if she retched her insides out, he’d hoped it was out of disgust than fear, the closest simulacrum to Caroline’s ire,

Very mouthy this one and equally indulgent of his whims, and very pliant to his ‘soul’ so to speak, but endearing she was not, the bloody harridan was grating on the skin let alone nerves, the women prattled off such incredulity, he firmly believed that half the things she said she didn't even hear it come out of her own mouth, lips mouthing ceaselessly about his redemption, healing, _salvation._

That he wasn’t too far gone, that he wasn’t heartless, merely has misplaced it.

Bloody told him she _knew_ his heart, that she could help him if he’d just _let_ her,

She entreated, _implored_ with such a beautiful beckoning smile on her face wide and _sparkling,_

Told him she could feel the choking breath of contrition in his evil, see the _light_ in his anger,

Well he expected a more— _visceral_ reaction from within himself to her demented drivel, but he just settled to draw,

He drew a curve exactly the width of her smile, 

On her neck, 

With his blade, 

He remembers her blood sparkled too.

**_“…..her identity will not be revealed until the forensics department gives us the green. I’m here standing in the woods behind the infamous Salvatore Boarding House which hasn’t seen human activity anywhere close to the area since well, the Founder’s founding days, and MFPD has found the body of the sixth girl that has turned victim to this town’s first and only serial killer, Officer Donovan just unofficially informed me that the body of the latest victim, does in fact, display all trends of bodily mutilation, chemical poisoning and sedation, the last five victims have shown, but above all, the one common feature the body of all these victim’s share even before coming face to face with their murderer remains to be the fact that the victim was once again another blonde woman. It seems that this towns most prolific killer, which is a title I use very loosely since he is indeed the only killer Mystic Falls has ever seen, is fixated on blonde woman between the age of 22 to 50, the oldest victim so far being 46 years old….”_ **

“26 to 50” He mutters,

The buffoon hadn't even got his facts right.

She was twenty six, when she left, 

_What was that baby?_

“Oh For fuck’s sake!” He slams his hand hard down on the table, Caroline’s organic almond milk spills over, “Caroline would rather sooner drink detergent than call me _baby.”_

_I’m sorry, I-I didn’t mean—_

Oh how his voice rises, it rises so it may not crack,

“And she’s never _bloody_ apologised when I’m the one yelling!” He yells.

_I-I’m sorry_

“ _Christ._ …just—“ He wipes a hand down his face, “Silence, alright? _Silence.”_

_A whimper, a sniffle,_

_O-okay_

_“_ By the _gods,_ Shut your mouth.”

His fingers quiver and shake, a comforting familiarity as the darkened veins on his arm, he knocks off the syringes on the table as he straighten’s the glass of milk.

Grabs a towel and wipes the surface, 

Expels an exasperated breath,

“Come here, you’re bleeding.” He beckons her forward,

But he walks to her all the same, still all bound up in Caroline’s chair and nowhere to go.

He gently, _tenderly_ , cleans the blood off, swiping carefully across her neck.

The wound has begun to fester and rot, 

Well wasn't he a sodding idiot to think he could keep her, 

He thought he could keep her,

He laughs a sound Caroline would not have found beautiful, 

But this, this blonde, she did come the closest after all, but alas, they all leave.

They leave, Every _fucking_ time.

Not once, not _bloody once_ , have they stayed,

Not bloody once have they with honesty clear as day, touched his cheek, braced his breast, held his wrist and told him, we’ll remain, we’ll stay. 

Not once have they told him, 

Here, this hand _,_ _this hand_ right here, it will never unclasp yours, 

The only time his hand does not quiver is when he draws,

The blonde’s head falls back, a new gush of blood coats her bloodied clothes in the front, chest silent.

_“C-Caroline, sweetheart….”_

He drops to his knees in front of her,

He holds her bound hands, and lightly tugs to get her attention,

She’s still staring at the ceiling.

He waits patiently, so patiently for her to look at him. 

She doesn’t.

“Caroline, my love, just look at me.”

“Caroline?”

“Caroline _please.”_

She remains as she is, inanimate.

He huffs a sourly amused breath through his nostrils, shakes his head.

“Always so stubborn sweetheart.”

He heavily lays his head on her lap, caresses her fingers that sit right in front of his eyes, 

Caroline never lets her nails chip, she’d immediately fix them.

Something must be wrong, she’s been biting her nails.

“Love _please,_ just speak to me, tell me what’s wrong sweetheart?”

A silence that blisters and rots, wafts in.

But he has always understood your silence better than your words.

And he knows,

Her head wobbles as if to say no, or that may just be from the jerk with which he straightened.

Oh but he does, he already knows what’s wrong, He does, doesn't he?

You’re leaving him, you’ll leave him, you’re _leaving,_

But-but no, No. You’re better than that, You’re _stronger_ than that.

He grabs her face with one hand, looks into her dissipated eyes,

Will you leave him? Just tell him this Caroline, Yes or No.

_Will you leave him?_

The blood smears on his wrist where it touches her neck, it’s not sparkling anymore, it’s rancid.

Love?

Answer him sweetheart.

_Fucking_ answer him Caroline.

_Caroline?_

The silence chafes,

_C-Caroline?_

The silence answers now,

You’re leaving aren't you? 

_Yes you are._

“You’re leaving.”

He’s always been a bit mercurial,

A choked _broken_ sob leaves his mouth, 

He slumps forward onto her lap, head against her stomach, hands on hers, thumb stroking her chipped polish, takes a deep breath that reaches down into his gut and gropes blindly for the tattered rags of his soul and sobs, 

and cries, and _begs,_ and sobs again.

Would you dare leave him again love? Again? How many times, how many _bloody_ times must he suffer this agony, this wretched pain of seeing you leave, seeing you turn your back on him.

He won’t survive another time, he’s at his limit sweetheart, he’s no more a simple crevasse to his demons, no he’s fed them and bled them, watched them burgeon their _grace,_ their _respite_ on his soul and consume him that he is no more a fissure or a crack with an unsteady gleam that bleeds through, they’ve torn him open with their teeth, he’s a doorway to it now sweetheart, they’ve crowned him now love, he’s all bloodied horns and stale hooves now, he’s found his silence amongst their screams, he’s found his heart’s stillness in their mania, he’s found a home in hell and he needs you there, he needs—

_And of course the bloody wanker snivels at her feet, give it time and he’ll mistake Caroline’s sweat for glittering champagne._

His head swivels at the second blonde sitting, all bound up and nowhere to go, in his kitchen.

_Mother, Nik has made it his life mission to remain a whipped little mongrel, I do hope you are very proud of him, the family recluse might have just found a permanent place to put his pecker._

Bekah, 

_Rebekah, young lady, you mind your language._

The third blonde, all bound up and nowhere to go, at the other side of the table, still as death, admonishes.

And they both look at him with such _full_ eyes, there’s a pit that’s filled behind it.

And he, ragged unhinged he, _smiles,_

Smiles so true and honest, a homecoming smile, he needs his smile to _remain_ true and honest so he stretches it a touch further, it pulls his chin back, but it’s immensity is how he ignores their _passiveness._

Rebekah’s lips are painted the same shade of red as her throat, he’s the one who coated her lips with it after all,

See sister? He always knew you preferred your lips crimson, he did pay attention to every last detail of your being, he’s an artist Bekah, he did listen and he did care.

_Niklaus fetch your lovely ladies their tea won’t you? I haven't had the time in the world to chat your charming wife, we have tales to weave while you make yourself useful._

“But mother—“

_None of that now, be the boy I raised and hare son. It’s rude to keep your ladies waiting and such darling ones at that._

He thinks she fixes her hair, or was that the air conditioning blowing.

_Oh and a side of crumpets would be lovely._

He huffs a breath and bows his head and dimples, how would he ever say no to you mother,

“Yes mother.”

It takes him a while to bring the tea from the house to his basement ‘Kitchen’.

He sets it all up on the tray just as mother taught him as a little boy, he wants to know if mother would notice, it looks just as her tray would, cup handles to the right, tags to the left, crumpets in the centre, the saucers align so that their designs are parallel and the stir-spoon handle faces away from the cup perpendicular to the handle on the opposite side. 

He even added a teaspoon of rosewater to mother’s tea as she prefers it, 

“I’ve brought the tea.” He announces as he enters, “The crumpets have gotten a bit soggy, but they’ll endure. The tea’s steaming so do watch your tongue and—”

He’s met with three blonde women who look nothing like Caroline, Bekah or mother, 

Three blonde women who are silent, who are blue at their lips and black at their fingers, who’s chest don’t puff and breath doesn’t stutter, who bleed down their front, because he drew on them.

They’re supposed to be still, but their gaunt eyes follow him as the moon does a human’s stride on lonely little earth, their hair is not sunshine, one is wheat, another platinum the last bloody ochre.

And he gently places the tray down on the table,

Readies a breath and proceeds to cut these women to pieces, he doesn't enjoy it, it’s simply easier this way to dispose, for it’s time for them to leave.

And leave they always do,

Mother left him because her blood turned to rot.

Sister left him crushed to bones in the front seat of her car.

Caroline left him as she bled in between her legs, a stillborn son and a stiller wife. 

So he’ll see these paling parodies of closed nostrils and lead-laden strings of fate, leave too, 

He wraps those pieces up nice and tight, not a whiff of him imparted on it. 

Readies the suitcase, and the falls of this town’s namesake awaits him. 

**_“….the victims exhibit extreme, and I mean ex-treme folks, forms of bodily mutilation, basically these women are being discovered hacked to pieces, unofficial information tells me our latest victim was found dismembered to eight separate masses of body….”_ **

Odd, he thinks as he takes the tea arrangement back up to his house, He remembers counting nine pieces with the last woman.

Oh _yes_ , how could he forget,

He kept the toe, it resembled Caroline’s far too much to part from.

**3 Days Later**

**“** So wait, what exactly clued you in that he was the murderer, I mean the guy is a reputed money-minting artist, lives all by himself in his great big mansion, from what I’ve heard, he’s a hermit in his million-dollar cave. And well a junkie with a history, but aren't all these artsy dudes like that.”

“Oh he’s a misanthrope alright, it’s exactly what clued me in, more accurately it led me to the actual clue, but man, the clue itself—” Special agent Marcel Gerard of the Criminal Investigatory Division under the FBI, heaves a complicated sigh and runs his hand down his face, “—The clue was actually the teacups.”

“ _Teacups?....._ I-I don’t follow.”

“Like you said, the man was a recluse, took a U-turn every time there was a dialogue involved in the interaction, and again like you said, was a hermit living in his cave, so why would a man who did not have any guests over, ever, who didn't live with anyone not even hired help, who confirmed that he had no visitors over on that particular day, or any day for that fact, and most definitely wasn’t expecting any, have an entire tray of tea and biscuits neatly arranged on his kitchen table, and not just one cup, three cups, cold and untouched and one even had a note beneath it, It said,

_’Extra sweet and milky, just how I like you.’_

So I mean it was fishy, and the guy’s an addict it was clear he mainlined some strong as fist shit on a daily basis, I pushed for an extended search, to be honest didn't have too much hope, but the gut leads the leash here, so we did it anyway and then we found the victim discovered from that morning’s toe in his bedside drawer, so I guess that was the beginning of the end. For him.”

“W-woah woah, wait so this man killed 9, n-i-n-e, _nine_ different blonde women, just so he could have a _tea party._ ”

“I mean his motivations are yet to be fully determined, but sure let’s go with that for now.”

“Jesus _fucking_ Christ man.” 

“ Well, Exactly my thoughts.” He says shaking his head.

“So I’m guessing once the Behavioural Analysis Unit is done coddling him, they’ll call you in for the interrogation.”

“Well yeah, I’m up any minute now, wish me fucking luck.”

“I’ll wish you fucking peace after you're done hearing his side of this shitstorm.”

“ _Yeah,_ yeah you do that.” Agent Gerard checks his wrist watch, “Crap, I’ve only got two minutes to scoot, I’ll take off now, catch you later in the break room.”

“Yeah sure man, and also, rain down shit on him for me.”

He huffs in sour amusement as he turns to leave, and nods his assent. 

And he thinks he’ll now go bury himself neck deep in another white male middle aged man’s manpain that somehow justifies his mass-murdering tendencies.

Case no. AQJW4834 here he comes.

* * *

**Author's Note:**

> ALSO I JUST WANNA SAY, YES THE BLONDE KLAUS LOOKS AT AS CAROLINE IS CAMILLE AND DO NOT COME AT ME, BECAUSE EVERYTHING CAMI SAYS (or I insinuate Cami says) IS TAKEN FROM HER ‘TO’ DIALOGUES DIRECTLY. Y’ALL HAVE A PROBLEM, YOU CAN GO AND HAVE A CHAT WITH JULIE PLAGUE.
> 
> Now,  
> Thank you all for taking the time to read this story,  
> Your reviews, comments, likes are not just appreciated but demanded (jk) but like no seriously, your feedback is what drives me to sit back down in front of my computer and type away, it's my motivation and reward, reading your comments telling me you enjoyed this as much as I loved writing this is like a concentrated shot of sunshine and just plain joy in my life.  
> Absolutely look forward to hearing your thoughts, and constructive criticism is wholly WELCOME. (Rip me apart softly though.)
> 
> LOVE  
> xx  
> Srishti.


End file.
